Nice Try, But No Smokes
by AcornWarrior
Summary: Mello gives topping a try, but Matt is...is just not buying it. After all, Mello doesn't smoke. And everyone who reads manga knows that without smokes, all you can do is try.


"What do you think you're doing?" Matt asked with a raised brow.

Mello glared, stalking towards him and ridding them both of their pairs of gloves. "What the hell does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"Attempting to seduce me," he answered honestly, if not a bit embarrassed. He allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed, and Mello began to run his hands down his chest.

"Why are you acting like there's a problem with this?" He was practically purring.

Matt shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mello, you're not going to top me." It was a bit of a harsh way to put it, yes, but honestly…it needed to be said. He pushed Mello off of him and sat cross-legged on the blood-colored comforter.

"Matt," he sighed, remaining standing but pushing his face up to his friend's. "What makes you think that after going against my religion, I'm _also_ going to hand you my dignity and be a chick when we have sex?" His face looked more murderous then when he was being seductive.

"Well…" he shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in a small hole in the comforter. "Bottoming doesn't make you a chick. Plus you're very…submissive."

"Bullshit," he hissed.

Blink. Blink.

Denial? Or did he actually not know? "Um…your hair." Strike one. "You show your belly." Strike two. "You are extremely emotional and impulsive." Strike three.

Mello decided to play along. "I'm a mafia boss."

"_Was_," Matt corrected. Half a point back.

"I wear leather."

"Behavior saved for wanna-bes," he commented blandly, making his friend fume a bit. Three and a half strikes.

"I'm violent."

"So…you're fussy," he restated. They'd call that even. No pointes deducted or gained.

"I ride a motorcycle."

"Hm," Matt nodded. He'd give him that one. Two and a half strikes again.

"I have a gun." He sounded a bit defensive, though still maintained his cool demeanor.

Matt winced. "But you carry it in your front pocket—which could make people think that you're compensating for something. Now, _I_ have no need to compensate…but—"

Mello interrupted his brilliant point by shoving the gun in question up to Matt's temple. "Take that back you bastard," he hissed through clenched jaws.

Matt didn't even blink, but smiled contentedly, saying, "Remember what I said about being emotional and impulsive?"

"I'm **not** being emotional and impulsive; you just fucking piss me off!" he yelled.

Matt slowly brought his hands up to lower Mello's gun. "Now on the other side, I am always cool and collected." One point for him. "I play video games, which is typical guy behavior." Two points for him. "And, above all, I do something that all those who top do. I doubt there is a single one who _doesn't _do this that didn't quit for the sake of his partner. Demon butlers exempted, of course."

Mello raised an eyebrow, though he allowed his gun to be put back in his holster.

Matt pulled out a cigarette as if to demonstrate how true his statement was. "I smoke."

"So suicidal tendencies falls under 'dominant' behavior?"

"It's _not_ suicidal!" Matt protested, very used to being attacked and criticized about this particular topic. "But in all of my manga, again, exempting Sebastian, there isn't a single—"

Mello didn't care. "It is without a doubt suicidal. I don't see how it _wouldn't_ be considered suicidal," he interrupted.

"Well I don't see how riding a motorcycle isn't considered suicidal…"

"You're really pissing me off. I don't even think I'm horny enough to screw you any more." He turned on his heel, going to walk out the door. He made it past the TV before Matt grabbed him by his waist, flipped him around, tripped him, and pinned him to the floor.

Matt's eyes drooped playfully. "Don't say that…I'm sure I could get you horny again…" He gingerly placed his hands on Mello's upper thigh, running the backs of his fingers along the inner seam of his pants. When Matt noticed his friend stiffening considerably, he smirked. "See? I do this kind of thing pretty well."

Mello flung himself up, since Matt hadn't really been trying to hold him down, and reversed their positions. His knees dug into Matt's sides, and his hands framed his head. Lowering his mouth to Matt's ear, he whispered "What were you saying?"

Matt smiled, even squinting his eyes playfully. His arms flung up from his sides, pushing in Mello's elbows in, and when he collapsed it was easy to flip over their arrangement so Matt was on top, knees pinning his friend's palms to the ground, sitting straight up. "I was saying that I do this type of stuff better," he gloated.

Mello looked furious, and Matt understood. After all, his pride was more than a little singed. But this was just the way it was going to be. Matt was not a born 'catcher'…he was a 'pitcher'. Even Wikipedia agreed with him. If he didn't think Mello would shoot his (expensive) monitor, he'd bring that page up as more evidence. Instead, he went for a more apologetic conversation. "Look, Mello…"

"Mihael," he corrected. "When we're like this, use my name."

Matt had the full intentions of breaking into some heart-throbbing (and very convincing) speech about how he would always respect him, and all that fun jazz, but was distracted when he looked down at his partner.

Hair mussed from their tumble, his lips were still kiss-swollen, his face showing a small hint of submission. His vest was almost completely unzipped, and when he quickly threw a glance downward, he found that Mello's pants were dangerously low and their hips dangerously parallel. Sweat added a beautiful gleam to the moon tanned skin that was exposed, and in the low light of the room it looked practically ethereal. What would it be like to slowly slide his hand down the flat planes of his body, hidden in shadows until it entered the leather-encompassed trove?

In that moment, the love that had been filling Matt swelled up dangerously. He was captured in time, and a prisoner of his lover. He tried to convey his message as he bent down, grabbing hold of Mello's chin to tilt his lips to meet his own.

The kiss wasn't filled with passion as Mello had expected—it wasn't driven by lust or frustration or desperation as his would have been. It was filled with a paradox of firm tenderness that only Matt was capable of. And it reminded him just why he was in love with this man. Lips melted together, separated only by the occasional dip of the tongue as it progressed in intensity…became more driven.

Teeth nipped at lips, which in turn sucked gently on other lips before releasing them. Matt was leading the kiss, and when Mello quickly reminisced on their other kisses, it had always been that way. He had been kidding himself to think that he would _want _it any other way. He might put on the tough-ass guy act when he's around anyone else, but he had almost forgotten…forgotten that Mail Jeevas knew him like no other. And would continue to love him in a way no one else could ever hope to come close to. He could be emotionally naked around him, and not worry. He was the _only_ one he could be like this around.

Matt seemed to be on about the same train of thought when it came to at least one of those words, because he chose that moment to reach down to relieve Mello of his vest. He left it on the floor underneath his ribcage due to how troublesome it would be to move it, and brought his un-gloved hand down to pinch Mello's nipple. He received a hitched-breath of encouragement from his lover, so he continued, groping and caressing until they were both shirtless and hot. Matt let his tongue slowly trace over his lover's rosy pebble before trailing down to outline his abs, leaving small love-bites all over his torso. His hand not clasping Mello's own fumbled with the buckle of leather pants, and then slowly un-laced them, allowing his hand to nudge the growing hardness underneath.

He could hardly say he was surprised when there was no underwear to be found…Mello had always struck him as that kind of guy. But he was surprised, though he probably shouldn't have been, when a pale hand flew to his own fly, carelessly ripping the zipper open in order to grab his cock in a fevered desire. Matt, eyes flying wide open in their tinted lusty film, stopped his ministrations momentarily, which resulted in a rather painful squeeze from beneath him.

The video-gamer decided that their pants were, at this point, only getting in the way, and wasted no time removing his. He backed up off of the ex-mafia to rip off the leather ones, but when they were caught by his shoes he decided that around the ankles was a perfectly acceptable place for them to lie. He threw Mello onto the bed and slowly lowered his mouth onto Mello's throbbing cock, letting his tongue trace over every perfect vein, and eagerly lapping up the small droplets of liquid that were dripping out of the tip.

"Mmm...oh God…Matt…oh—" Mello managed to choke out, falling back on the habit of speaking in aliases in his almost-fevered state. "Don't…don't stop." Hands gripped the sheets in an attempted anchor.

The proud-seme of the two had a wonderful view from his position as he slowly moved his mouth up and down, sucking all of the air out of the cavity and squeezing.

"Ah—ah! Oh…a…" He panted heavily.

Both of their cheeks were flushed, though Mello's considerably more, further accentuated by the paleness of his skin. Lips were open just far enough for his inarticulate moaning to come through, and Matt had to admit…he looked absolutely delectable. Eyes darkened with lust, and occasional tremors of arousal wracking his slender body. He didn't think he could resist.

With a pop, he brought his mouth up, and paused selfishly to see Mello's reaction.

"Fucking asshole…why the hell did you—oh…mmph…"

Words fell soundlessly from his tongue as their mouths spoke to each other in ways that sound waves could never seem to capture; emotion, sexual tension, love…all to the rhythm of Matt's hand pumping harder and harder. And then he was inside him, and fingers were tangled in hair, and frustration gave way to pleasure.

"Stop," Mello panted finally. "I can't—"

"Like…like hell. Not when you're this close."

"Ah! Ma—I'm gonna…I'm gonna come. Stop!" He pleaded. It was sinful to feel this good while doing something so wrong. Why couldn't it feel _bad_? He was barely aware of the heavy metal of the rosary as it bounced on his chest with each heavy thrust from Matt.

With his orgasm, everything shattered. Face rolled back and mouth opened as a scream that he would have sworn wasn't coming from him ripped apart his nerves. The carnage that was left of his religious ideal was chocolate-coated in ecstasy, and when Matt came as well and fell on top of him, he realized that he would never have it any other way.

If he was going to butcher his beliefs, he couldn't think of a single better reason to do it.

A/N: So this is not a new fanfiction. I found it in the dark, terrifying recesses of my "Fanfiction" folder under My Docs. And I read it and realized that it was mediocre, but in a way that made me kind of like it. And I tried to improve it, but I found that I couldn't unless I wanted to just re-write the entire thing, because it's written in a weird writing style. So I sent it over to my wonderful amazing mega awesome beta KonspiracyKId, and she fixed it up for me.

Plus I realized that I didn't have a single DeathNote fanfiction posted. And this was unacceptable.


End file.
